


unbridled

by weisjenga



Category: ASTRO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boarding School, But it's not really about that, M/M, Roommates, but it's not really about that either, i don't know how to tag this without spoilers, idk - Freeform, mentions of abuse?, sanha isn't that soft in this im sorry, showjumping!au, some illegal driving, will put warnings in chapter notes when appropriate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2019-01-01
Packaged: 2019-07-02 09:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15793401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weisjenga/pseuds/weisjenga
Summary: yoon sanha was number one, until a certain park minhyuk showed up with his fancy horse and fancier clothes, that is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone i'm back !! this is something ive been thinking about since like,,,two weeks after i began writing tpffg, i waited until now because i didn't want to get myself into too much. after a long long wait, here we are! this originally started as kuhngyeol because mr go minsoo in a blazer and breeches and tall boots.......anyway.

            _Four, three, two, one, up. Six, five, four…_ Sanha kept his grip even on the reins as he counted strides, controlled over the last vertical combination. The timer stopped as he passed, only then did he sink into his saddle, relax his movement, lean over to pat his horse on the neck. _With no faults and a time of one hundred and eighteen point four seconds, Yoon Sanha, on Dreams Come True,_ he heard the announcer say. Shrugging off his blazer, Sanha smiled. A clean run and faster than the next place by nearly a full second, he knew that with only two more competitors left, yet another win was secured.

            At sixteen, Sanha liked to think he knew everyone on the show jumping circuit. Or, at the very least, he thought he knew everyone _worth_ knowing. It was rare that anyone showed up at this level without Sanha having heard of them, even if only in passing, so when the last competitor walked into the ring, an unfamiliar face beside a _gorgeous_ dapple grey, Sanha frowned. One hundred and eighteen point _two_ seconds later, Sanha was positively nonplussed as he gawked at the screen. Not only had the other boy completed a perfect run, he’d done it faster.

            _…Park Minhyuk, on Like A King, now in first…_ Sanha turned away from the monitor, huffing in annoyance, disbelief.

            “Not bad, Sanha,” said a soft, smooth voice, accompanied by the sharp _clip-clop_ of hooves against pavement.

            “Thank you,” Sanha replied automatically, out of polite habit. He glanced towards the person who had spoken, now beside him. “You’re Minhyuk,” he commented, tone neutral, feeling anything but. Up close, he could suddenly see that the other boy couldn’t have been much older than himself, and that under his helmet (which, noted Sanha, was respectably expensive), he had a smirk playing on the corner of his lips.

            Sanha forced himself to stop scowling long enough for the victory lap, the podium, the pictures. He found an empty stall and began to untack his horse, spent a little too long staring at the shiny nameplate on the halter. In small lettering, _Dreams Come True,_ and above it, in a larger font, the barn name, _Butterfly._ Through the bars of the stall, he saw Minhyuk walking down the aisle. _Probably doesn’t groom his own horse,_ Sanha thought. He was used to these types of people, ones that were there for nothing more than the ride and hardly cared what happened before or after. There was something about the sport that led to the best and worst sorts, there were the rich, entitled, awful – all of which Sanha had placed Minhyuk in the category with.

            Not that Sanha’s family wasn’t rich like them, no. They always had been. His father was a businessman and his mother was a rather successful investor, and that’s often how it was with these groups. A little rich, a little snobby.

            Braids undone, legs wrapped, a last brush, and Sanha clipped a lead rope onto the halter. Walking out to the trailer, he was on the left, Butterfly on the right, everything as it always was, but not quite what it should have been. He wasn’t used to second place, and it seemed that his horse wasn’t either, with the way the gelding snorted at the not-blue ribbon.

            “Come on,” Sanha clicked his tongue, trying to coax Butterfly into the trailer. It was a rare day that he trailered with anything less than reluctance, and today was no different.

            “Would you like some help?” Someone spoke and Sanha, still bitter over the loss, nearly dropped the lead rope as he was _convinced_ his horse had not only made actual words, but was potentially mocking him. He peered under Butterfly’s neck and promptly snapped back into hiding behind his horse, only to look again a second later. Of course, out of all the people who could have seen him right now, it had to be this one.

            “Oh, hello, Minhyuk,” Sanha greeted, all cool and so _not._ “I’ll be alright, thank you,” he said, giving a tentative pull on the halter. Butterfly chose that moment to stomp and defiantly toss his head up, giving Sanha a clear view of Minhyuk looking half concerned, half confused, all entertained.

            “If you say so,” the other replied and turned to walk away. “See you around, Sanha,” Minhyuk said over his shoulder, deferential words with a careless tone.

            Sanha watched the boy across the lot as he took his horse from a stable hand and led him into his trailer, easily, perfectly; watched as the truck pulled out and Minhyuk followed in the passenger seat of a Maserati. Five minutes and three carrots later, Sanha was closing the doors of his trailer and throwing his competition outfit into a trunk, throwing himself into a leather seat. His mother gave him an unwanted sympathetic smile from the driver’s side, to which he muttered that he was _fine, really,_ and that was that.

            He never wanted to see Minhyuk again.

…

            The large, glossy wooden sign that Sanha had passed a thousand times before looked a little shiner than usual, appropriately so for the first day of a new school year. Not a single autumn leaf covered the bold script, _The Academy for Equestrian Sports and Fine Arts,_ referred to by everyone as simply _The Academy._ As far as Sanha knew, nobody was quite certain how or why the founders had settled on such a strange combination seventy-three years ago, but it had become a respectable and famed establishment in no time, continuing to uphold its reputation as the best boarding school in the country and, in all likelihood, the better part of the continent.

            Flags and pennants hung off of and in between iron-wrought lampposts on either side of a cobblestone path in the school’s colours, the vivid plum and space violet complementing the metallic gold lettering. Cleanly trimmed trees arched over the walkway, all crimson reds and incredible shades of saffron. The day, though still warm with the last days of summer, held a crisp note in the air for the winter that was greedy for its turn.

            The end of the path opened to an impeccable courtyard under a clear blue sky, where not a stray piece of moss ever surfaced between the stones, nor an unwanted leaf was allowed to linger. A tiered fountain sat in the middle, splashing crystal water from the mouth of an angel. Flowerbeds and mowed lawns lay between each of the four paths split from the courtyard – one for the entrance, another each for the girls’ and boys’ dormitories, and finally, a wide, generous path that led to the front doors of the school.

            Even on its own, the school was a splendid building. On either side of the stone stairway was a bush, transformed through topiary work on the level of sorcery into large, rearing horses, facing each other. In fact, nearly everything at The Academy could best be described as _large._ The deep mahogany wooden doors were easily three-and-a-half metres, bronze-plated handles first turned dark from the elements and time, then made bright again through years of use. Tendrils of ivy had been permitted to climb the red brick walls, lending the face of the school a particular charm with the curling leaves. A roof of grey shingles which had undergone countless repairs held a large chimney for a fireplace rarely used, save for special occasions.

            Today was one of those occasions. On the first Sunday of September every year, students piled out of their cars, already dressed in navy blue blazers, dress pants and shoes, a purple tie. After the first day, they could opt for a sweater, a vest (which really, was more of a waistcoat), or perhaps a sweater vest, each of which had the school’s crest proudly stitched onto the front. The students would gather in the dining hall, a grand space with long wooden tables, walls covered in tapestries and portraits done in the likeness of every dean since the school’s founding. From the entrance on the side of the room, one could see a spectacular fireplace, presently crackling with logs ablaze, the scent of maple and oak logs diffusing through the room. Above the fireplace a portrait of the current dean, Mr. Kim. He was a tiny man with ears poking out sideways under his hair, almost comically plush lips, and a commanding presence. The opposite wall was adorned with intricate stained glass windows, telling stories whose origins had been long forgotten (much to the dismay of the history teacher). On the right from the entrance was the front of the dining hall, where a raised platform held a podium.

            While students were provided a lunch in the dining hall, their horses were acquainted with a new home by the stable hands. The Academy had a stable of two hundred stalls behind the main building, one hundred on either side of the central ring, a row of fifty on each wall. The central ring was used mostly for jumping, constantly changing setups of verticals, crossrails, and oxers, painted colourful hues and occasionally made of interesting objects. Should the setup be found unsatisfactory, a corner was dedicated to plenty of poles and stands to build new obstacles. Several round pens were placed just outside of the central ring where students could lunge their horses – letting them run without a rider, usually to rid extremes of excess energy – without disturbing other riders. To one side paddocks could be found, hectares upon hectares of fenced spaces for the horses to be outside, to socialize. On the other side were three more arenas. One dedicated to dressage, with two large signs hung up in the entryway: one with a quote by someone nobody knew (this time, much to the dismay of the dressage instructors) about how dressage was to riding as ballet was to dance, and the other a more lighthearted panel stating that no, dressage was not pronounced “dress-age,” but rather “dre- _sawge_.” The remaining two were home to a myriad of activities. Classes which focused on both flatwork and jumping would be held here, or the occasional venture into Western-style with pole bending or barrel racing.

            If one continued past the arenas, paddocks, and pens, there was an entire cross-country course nestled into the property. It was very restricted and _very_ forbidden to enter the course without permission for safety reasons, and there had been cases of students being suspended from their extracurriculars for weeks for breaking this rule. Rumour had it that someone had _died_ on the course before. This wasn’t a particularly outrageous idea, as cross-country jumping was extremely dangerous, but that same rumour told that the course had been haunted ever since.

            The back of the property reached into rolling hills and sprawling woods. An abundance of trails ran through the trees, ideal for a ride with friends on a sunny day. The usual cautions and rules were attached to a sturdy tree, stating everything ranging from the regular _Stay on marked trails at all times_ to the curious _Beware the creek, especially during full moon._ It was generally assumed that this last rule had been added by an inebriated student, yet it was carved in the same blocky lettering as the rest of the surprisingly polished sign.

            One edge of the land contained several sports fields, spaces for soccer, tennis, basketball, and of course, polo. Although most students attended The Academy for jumping or dressage, a handful focused on polo, and many more did it in spare time. Polo horses were easy to tell apart from the rest. Typically on the smaller side, fifteen hands or less, with one hand measuring four inches. Short enough so it was easy to bend down and strike the ball, but with long legs for quick movement.

            On the other side, greenhouses and a few studios filled the space. Walking into a studio revealed high ceilings filled with skylights and an open floor. Often, canvases were found circled around an object, or the room would be inhabited by all sorts of sculptures. Located near these buildings were a few small shops. Toiletries and other necessities could be bought here, or an afternoon could be spent in the ever-popular café. Last but not least, a pizza shop had opened in recent years, and had become an absolute staple in the lives of everyone who had ever set foot inside.

            Following the full loop of the campus led back to the courtyard, where in the afternoon students split off to their respective dorms. Brick like the rest of the school, but a modern, renovated interior, though contrasted with the classic atmosphere of the school, was every bit as beautiful. Each of the five floors contained a lounge with sleek leather couches and an inordinately large television. Microwaves and coffeemakers were provided as well, with strict instructions to keep everything clean and tidy.

            Hardwood flooring made up the wide hallway. Twenty wooden doors with gold numbering each revealed a room. Two beds, two desks, two chairs. A shared mini-fridge and a bathroom for each room. The carpeting was, shockingly, not purple nor gold, but a dull grey, cleverly patterned to easily disguise anything that may land upon it and choose not to leave.

            Sanha walked into his assigned room, the ninth one on the third floor, and dropped his duffel bag on the left side. He had chosen the left side of every room he’d stayed in for the past two years, ever since he started attending The Academy at fourteen. Though he didn’t know who his roommate would be, whoever it was would have to deal with the right side, whether they liked it or not.

            He was in the middle of setting up his toothbrush and bottles upon bottles of hair products and shower gels when he heard someone enter the room, a distinct sound standing out from the drone of excited voices passing by.

            Sanha turned, strode out of the bathroom, ready to meet his new roommate, and instead was faced with –

            _“Minhyuk?”_ He exclaimed, and forgetting for a moment everything his parents had ever taught him to say when greeting someone, added, “what the _fuck_ are you doing here?”

            “This is room 309, right?” Minhyuk eyed the number on the door suspiciously.

            “Um,” Sanha blinked. And blinked again. It couldn’t be. “Yes,” he finally answered once he was mostly finished being dumbfounded, “it is.”

            Minhyuk smiled. “Great,” he said, dropping easy smiles and confident handshakes.

            “Great?” Sanha repeated and ignored his father’s stern voice in his head, _it’s important to greet people properly, Sanha, no matter who they are._

            “I’m your roommate.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we meet everyone, sanha hates his life
> 
> not proofread but who's surprised?

            “This is a locker room,” Sanha grumbled, pointing out the third such space in the span of as many minutes. “This is a tack room,” he gestured vaguely, just as monotone, just as bored. Less than a full day had passed since Minhyuk had announced himself as his roommate, yet Sanha was already sure that the other boy would have absolutely no interest in where saddles and bridles were kept for the thirty horses owned by the school. These horses were for students who might want to try a different aspect of riding, or for the occasion that their own horse was unable to be ridden. Sanha didn’t foresee Minhyuk meeting either of these conditions anytime soon. But Mr. Kim himself had stopped by room 309 early in the morning to ask Sanha to acquaint Minhyuk with the grounds, as if there weren’t perfectly good orientation sessions provided for exactly this purpose.

            Sanha had expected Minhyuk to protest, perhaps to say that he was too good to need a tour, just like he was apparently too good to not be wearing a Burberry scarf solely for the sake of fashion. Yet without so much as a complaint, Minhyuk followed Sanha out the door. And as they progressed through the stable, the other boy nodding to everything being said with an interest that Sanha couldn’t tell was feigned or not, he wondered how much Minhyuk’s family had paid to The Academy for Sanha to be tasked with this request. If Sanha were to be completely reasonable and objective, Minhyuk wasn’t a bad roommate. He was quiet enough, tidy enough, yet he was irritating enough even just in the amount of time they’d spent together that Sanha hated him all the more.

            It wasn’t anything in particular about him that bothered Sanha, except it was everything. This morning, Sanha had wanted to wear his favourite flat cap, then Minhyuk had taken out a nearly identical one and put it over his hair, tousled from sleep and somehow unfairly artful, and there was _no way_ Sanha wanted to be seen matching with the person responsible for stealing his win.

            “This is – hey, where did you go?” Sanha paused in the middle of unnecessarily pointing out a cross-tie – a space larger than a stall where one could easily groom or tack a horse – as he realized the only participant in his tour was no longer present.

            A stall door sliding open caught Sanha’s attention. Turning, he located Minhyuk situated halfway inside a stall, hand in his pocket and pulling out treats.

            “This one is yours?” Sanha commented dryly. The dapple grey currently trying to eat Minhyuk’s hat was just as stunning as he remembered. Minhyuk’s horse looked to be taller than even his own sixteen-hand gelding, a dark bay – deep brown body, black points, like the equine version of a Siamese marking. Casually, Sanha eyed the nameplate fixed to the stall. _Polaris._ An interesting name, he thought, though he couldn’t deny that it suited the elegance of the animal. Now Sanha knew that Minhyuk’s perfect horse had two perfect names. Even his show name, a name that was often nonsensical and humourous, _Like A King,_ was smooth, graceful, delicate. Inside the sleeve of his light Gucci jacket, Sanha clenched his fist. He turned and strode down the aisle before Minhyuk could reply.

            After the next _this is a locker room_ that the two passed, they stopped at the entrance of the dressage ring. Inside, a glossy black mare sidestepped across the arena, under a graceful figure. To the side stood another boy who waved at Sanha, dressed in ankle boots and dark jeans and a bright smile.

            Sanha unlatched the gate and stepped through. “Hey, Myungjun,” he greeted, “what are you doing?”

            “Watching Dongmin here show off,” the other boy laughed lightly, then gasped as Minhyuk came up behind Sanha. “You’re Park Minhyuk, right?”

            “I –”

            “You _know_ him?!” Sanha sputtered, interrupting Minhyuk.

            “He’s been winning like, every circuit, Sanha. You _don’t_ know him?”

            “I do now,” grumbled Sanha, as Minhyuk began striking up easy conversation with Myungjun. Sanha huffed and opted to watch Dongmin execute a series of movements at a collected canter. He didn’t particularly care for dressage, but he knew from his endless flatwork classes that it was _not_ as easy as Dongmin made it look.

            “Anyway, Minhyuk. Dongmin is our resident dressage champion. He likes to give Sanha a run for his money in jumpers as well,” the older boy explained. Myungjun himself was excellent in dressage and Sanha often witnessed the two of them in friendly competition.

            “I’ve noticed,” Minhyuk smirked and Sanha had half a mind to snatch the dressage whip out of Myungjun’s hand and smack his roommate with it.

            Instead, Sanha took a few breaths before he could break school regulations prior to classes even starting. He stood there, mildly fuming once again, barely listening to Myungjun enthusiastically welcoming Minhyuk to The Academy. Moments later, Dongmin was next to him and clapped a hand over Sanha’s shoulder.

            “Whoa, you’re walking around with _the_ Park Minhyuk?” Dongmin leaned closer. “Is he attending? How did you meet him? Why are you –”

            “He’s my roommate,” Sanha forced the words out between clenched teeth. “Mr. Kim _personally_ asked me to show him around.”

            “Isn’t that what orientation is for? Jesus, Sanha, how much do you think his parents paid?”

            “I wonder,” Sanha deadpanned. “If you’re so interested, you can have him,” he added, unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

            Just then, Myungjun interjected, “Sanha! Make sure you invite Minhyuk to sit with us at lunch.”

            “Definitely,” added Dongmin.

            Sanha sighed. All of three minutes and two of his friends were already dazzled by Minhyuk. Right then he needed to _leave_ , so Sanha marched over to Minhyuk and turned him by the shoulders, shoved him somewhat unceremoniously towards the exit with a hissed _we’re going_ , and left a confused Myungjun and Dongmin.

            Minhyuk stayed silent as Sanha all but stormed out of the ring, small puffs of dust kicked up behind him. _It’s fine,_ Sanha told himself, refusing to let his frustration continue to get the better of him. Back down the aisle they went, a few soft noses poking out over stall doors as they passed by.

            “Do you want some coffee?” Sanha asked once he had recovered. “Let’s go to the café,” he said, with minimal room left for objection. And they went, expensive footsteps on spotless floors met with reflective glass cases and delicate pastries. He ordered himself a drink with a name that had too many parts and one for Minhyuk, too.

            “Sanha, what’s in this drink? It’s very…interesting,” Minhyuk observed, taking a sip. Sanha shrugged and continued to down his concoction. What _was_ in his drink was probably mostly sugar and various flavours that were not coffee, but it did a fine job of distracting from the fact that he would now likely never be able to escape the source of his suffering. “Thank you, though, for the uh, recommendation,” Minhyuk carried on, “this is definitely…memorable.”

            Sanha watched Minhyuk sip periodically at his drink throughout the rest of the walk of the grounds. As they stared in collective uncertainty at the arts displays through the window, he heard a rustling and a soft _thump_ behind him. He turned and squinted at Minhyuk, who had his hands in his pockets, staring straight ahead.

            “Did you hear that?”

            “No,” Minhyuk replied expressionlessly.

            “Are you sure? It sounded close,” Sanha said, then eyed Minhyuk again. “Where did your drink – oh my _god,_ did you just throw your drink in the bush?”

            “Um,” answered Minhyuk, “let’s keep going.”

            Much to his dismay, Sanha found himself holding back a laugh. “Right,” he nodded, “so this is one of the Arts buildings, and it’s…well, I’m not sure what this is supposed to be.” After a last glance at the mysterious display, Sanha turned away and waved for Minhyuk to follow. “This is an aisle,” stated Sanha, as they walked down the opposite side of the grounds.

            “I know what an aisle is, you don’t have to point out _everything_ we pass,” Minhyuk said, and Sanha could just _tell_ that the other boy was smirking, again.

            “It’s not my fault Mr. Kim _asked_ me to show you everything,” Sanha shot back, “anyway, this is another locker room.”

            They passed by just as someone stepped out of the room, colliding with Minhyuk. Sanha was about to go off on whoever it was to watch where they were going, but to his surprise, Minhyuk was gaping at a tall boy who gaped right back.

            “Bin?” Minhyuk asked, still unmoving.

            “Minhyuk?” The other returned the question.

            Just as Sanha contemplated the dreadful possibility that _all_ of his friends already knew Minhyuk, Bin grabbed Minhyuk and pulled him in for a hug.

            “I take it you two know each other?”

            “Yeah, we went to school together for a long time, until…” Bin trailed off, glancing at Minhyuk.

            “Uh, yeah,” said Minhyuk.

            A moment of awkward shuffles and averted gazes passed before Bin continued, “I should go now, don’t want to be late meeting Wooseok.”

            “Oh my god, Bin, starting again already? Hurry up and go before he makes you do a whole course without stirrups,” Sanha laughed, “see you later.” At the far end of the aisle, he could see a slim figure with an unmistakable head of red hair walking towards them.

            “Bin, we’re starting in fifteen minutes,” Wooseok said as he passed, and Bin scurried away to the nearest cross-tie to finish saddling his horse.

            Once Sanha and Minhyuk exited the barn and Sanha was sure that Wooseok was safely out of earshot, he said, “that was Wooseok, one of the jumping instructors. He’s amazing if you want to do well, not so amazing if you want to be alive after a lesson.”

            “Can’t wait,” Minhyuk grimaced.

            Circling the rest of the grounds, around the paddocks and through the main building brought them back to the dorms. On the third floor, they found a boy standing in front of the coffee machine, the mindless pressing of the buttons at odds with his already put-together appearance. The boy at the machine turned around, cup in hand, at the dinging of the elevator. Before Sanha could breathe a word of greeting, the other spoke.

            “You’re Minhyuk,” said the boy, his cup nearly dropping to the floor with his jaw.

            “Hello to you too, Jinwoo,” Sanha muttered, truly defeated.

            “Sorry,” Jinwoo smiled sheepishly, “the rumours were true, then? This will be great!”

            Sanha thought that he could really go for another trip to the café. Perhaps this time, he would buy four more, one to throw at each of his friends, and possibly a fifth extra to throw at Minhyuk, too. Or two for Minhyuk, one for ruining his winning record, and the second for charming every last one of his immediate friend group within half a day.

            “Looks like they were,” Sanha replied and wondered why nobody had bothered to tell him about this Minhyuk, who was apparently rather famous.

            Upon returning to Room 309, Sanha promptly kicked off his shoes and flopped onto his bed, despair evident in the way he grabbed the nearest pillow and slammed it over his face, trying to suffocate the agony. Not a second of blissful darkness without Minhyuk’s face in view had passed when he felt a poking at his side. He squealed at the ticklish sensation and rolled away until he smacked the wall.

            “Do you need something?” Sanha removed the pillow and shot a fairly unthreatening glare at his roommate.

            “Uh, no. But your phone is ringing.” Minhyuk bent down to pick up the buzzing device from the floor, where it had fallen from Sanha’s pocket during his trajectory.

            “Thanks,” Sanha sighed and took his phone from Minhyuk’s hands. “Hello?” On the other end of the phone, someone yelled, something smashed. “Mom? Is everything okay over there?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i keep changing my mind on where i really want this to go oops


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't updated since september oops :(( school was really busy this semester i spent 4 to 10 hours every. single. day. (literally). working on projects and then i was severely uninspired. and then i tried to write but everything just came out sounding horrible
> 
> ANYWAY happy new year, sorry for disappearing off the face of the earth !!

            “Everything’s fine,” Sanha heard his mother say, punctuated by sounds that didn’t quite seem _fine._ “I just wanted to let you know that we might not be able to make it out to visit you this weekend. Your father is a little…stressed with work lately.”

            “What?” Sanha felt his stomach drop. “Are you okay? I’ll come home right now,” he scrambled off the bed, already shoving his way into shoes, a jacket.

            “Sanha, _don’t._ ”

            “Listen, I’ll be back within a couple of hours, and…and then I’ll –” Pacing, Sanha chewed at his lip in frustration.

            “You’ll what? No, Sanha, darling. I’ll be fine here. Don’t worry, alright?” Sanha’s mother said, calm as always, and the call ended.

            How could he not worry? He knew how his father got when work was busy, when he would wind himself up so tightly trying to meet deadlines and coming home late, everything snapping with a few drinks.

            A little too late, Sanha realized that Minhyuk was still in the room, albeit looking fairly uncomfortable.

            “Is, uh,” Minhyuk started, not getting very far at all before Sanha held up a hand to silence his roommate.

            “None of your business,” Sanha hissed through clenched teeth. Only when he saw Minhyuk’s wide-eyed expression written with confusion and something that Sanha didn’t want to believe was concern did he soften the edges of his jaw, his fist, his breath.

            A long moment passed of Sanha still hovering by the door, running a hand through his hair, Minhyuk sitting in the thick silence.

            “Do you…want to go on the trails?” Minhyuk suggested, tentative in the still fresh tension.

            Sanha blinked. And blinked again. He tried to think of a reason to refuse, to say _really,_ this was the only thing Minhyuk could deem appropriate to say? But instead, with a faint smile pulled across his face, he replied, “well, I don’t see why not.”

…

            The sun was gentle in the early afternoon, gleaming off the softly polished leather of saddles and ankle boots. A quiet breeze rustled through the tall grass on either side of the trail. As they left the main school grounds, the gravel trail gave way to dirt paths between layers of leaves, all clinging on to shades of emerald, ready to turn to saffron gold and bright ruby. The air had a soft hum between the whispers of the sprawling trees, telling stories of the summer that hadn’t quite left, beckoning them to stay.

            As Sanha and Minhyuk rode into the woods, branches arched overhead, reaching for each other. They were side-by-side through the beams of sunlight, and the two of them next to each other – Butterfly with a coat of dark chocolate and Polaris’ dapple grey – was quite a sight to behold, like a shadow beside its ghost.

            Sanha registered movement in his peripheral vision and glanced to see Minhyuk extending a gloved hand to scratch Polaris’ neck, eliciting a gentle snort and a toss of his mane. They still hadn’t said a word to each other this whole time. Over the past few days, Minhyuk had seemed indifferent every time Sanha had spoken to him. Regardless of the fact that Sanha could hardly say he had _tried_ to talk to the other boy much at all, he found the behaviour at odds with Minhyuk’s image.

            Farther into the forest, the two kept a slow pace, letting the horses pick their way through the roots. Sanha let his attention wander, easing up on the tense grip he hadn’t noticed he’d been holding the reins with. Above him, he heard squirrels hopping through the branches, and birds, flying through their gentle melodies. He wanted to stay here. The thought came to Sanha suddenly, that he’d probably be okay with never returning to Room 309, or his infinitely useless geometry classes that were to begin in a few days’ time.

            “Sanha.”

            Sanha had completely spaced out. It took a few blinks for him to realize his name was being called.

            “Sanha.” Slightly more exasperated. Had it been a while?

            “What?” It came out a little snappier than intended, having been pulled out of a daze.

            “I _said,_ where are we?”

            _Aren’t we back at the grounds yet?_ Sanha looked around, trying to gauge how far they had left to go. He hadn’t brought them on a particularly long trail, having wanted to be back before dinnertime. Strangely, he felt like he didn’t recognize the area, and he looked behind him, seeing where they had come from. It looked like every other stretch of forest.

            “Did we go off the path?” Sanha shot something bordering on a glare towards Minhyuk.

            “I don’t know, I was following you!”

            “Why didn’t you say something sooner?” Picking up the slack in his reins, Sanha guided Butterfly in a tight pivot – maybe the dressage kids were onto something – to take a better look around.

            “I _did,”_ Minhyuk muttered, still loudly enough for Sanha to hear. “Also, I’ve never been here before,” he deadpanned. Sanha couldn’t tell whether it was a hint of amusement or sarcasm hidden beneath the words.

            Sanha dismounted, surprised when he landed on grass cushioned with moss instead of a well-packed dirt path. They had entered a small clearing, the trees evenly spaced around the circular area. A small, brightly feathered bird landed on a nearby stone, tilting its head at the intruders, then shot off into the sky again. There was sort of a too-colourful quality to everything, Sanha noticed. Each blade of grass, all of the small flowers dotting the area, appeared as if someone had turned up the saturation just a little too high. Sanha allowed himself to take a deep breath and the air smelled sweet and fresh, and he felt the tension leave his body. The sound of the creek rushed just on the other side of the glade. Sanha wanted to go towards it and he took a step forwards, when all at once, Butterfly jerked back on the reins still in his hand, and an arm smacked across his chest, stopping him from going any farther.

            “What the –” Sanha looked to see what had hit him and it was Minhyuk holding out his arm. He couldn’t recall the other boy having dismounted, and he blinked in surprise. _That was weird,_ he thought. He felt a little fuzzy, like he’d forgotten what exactly he was supposed to be doing. There was a pull on the reins again and Sanha turned around; Butterfly was backing away, head raised high, the whites of his eyes showing.

            “We should go,” Minhyuk’s voice cut through the still atmosphere.

            “Why?” Sanha moved to go farther in again, but Minhyuk had a death grip around his arm. “It’s nice here.”

            _“Look,”_ hissed Minhyuk, pointing to the ground. In the lush grass, small mushrooms sprouted through in a perfect circle.

            “Mushrooms. That’s…okay. What’s your point?”

            “You know, like,” Minhyuk leaned in and whispered nervously, as if he was afraid someone would hear them, “faeries?”

            Sanha stared down at the other boy. This was it, his roommate was a lunatic. “Faeries,” he repeated, slowly. _Surely,_ Minhyuk had not just suggested that they were about to be kidnapped by faeries.

            “Yes, like –” A series of hand gestures followed, Sanha supposed it was Minhyuk trying to mime out half-evil creatures with wings as a form of explanation.

            “I just didn’t think I heard you correctly,” stated Sanha, shaking his head in mild disbelief. “Was this because you didn’t like the drink from the café?” _Maybe the sugar went to his head,_ Sanha contemplated. It wasn’t entirely impossible, considering he had yet to meet another person who could stomach the concoction.

            “I’m not crazy,” Minhyuk said firmly as he carefully let go of Sanha’s arm.

            “Whatever,” Sanha replied. He picked up the reins he had released and tugged gently, clicking his tongue in an effort to calm Butterfly down. To his surprise, Polaris was behaving similarly, backing away and fighting Minhyuk’s grip on the reins. Sanha led them back to the edge of the clearing, still convinced that Minhyuk had absolutely lost it.

            As the boys rode back into the trees, they argued over which way they had come. The path was nowhere in sight. It took another half an hour before Sanha could be sure he recognized anything, to which Minhyuk had questioned, _how can you recognize a tree?_ and Sanha shot back _I just_ can, _okay?_ and the two of them fell silent again. The sun had started to fall towards the horizon and Sanha frowned, positive that they hadn’t been out that long. He pulled out his phone to check the time and squinted in confusion. Already it was nearly dinnertime, and he didn’t feel that they could have gotten lost for more than an hour at most. Once Sanha and Minhyuk made it onto the right path to return to the Academy, it wasn’t long before they came to a field. Sanha stopped to admire the scene, to watch the pink-washed sky tint the ruffled grass.

            Sanha’s phone chimed. _Where are you?_ Myungjun had texted. It was unlike Myungjun to concern himself over Sanha’s whereabouts on an unimportant day, so Sanha ignored it, assuming that the headmaster had wondered where Sanha had taken the school’s newest prized student, and that Myungjun had been the first unfortunate soul tasked with locating them.

            However, they _were_ about to be late for dinner. Sanha shoved his phone back into the pocket of his jacket. Without turning to look at Minhyuk, he said, “I’ll race you across the field,” and pushed Butterfly into a full gallop.

            They arrived back at the grounds breathless and winded, hurrying to untack and groom their horses. Finishing picking a stone out of Butterfly’s hooves, Sanha stood to find a figure standing at the stall door.

            “Hey, Myungjun,” he greeted, “shouldn’t you be at dinner?”

            “Shouldn’t _you?_ ” Myungjun grinned. He slid the door open a little more and slipped in, placed a hand on Sanha’s shoulder and indicated for him to come closer. “Be careful, Sanha,” was all the elder said before leaving.

            Sanha nodded blankly, not having the slightest clue what Myungjun was going on about. Still, he felt a bit unsettled with the events of the day. He reached up to rub one of Butterfly’s fuzzy ears, taking comfort in the familiar sensation. “We must be the only sane ones left around here, huh?” Butterfly only snorted and rubbed his head against Sanha, which nearly knocked the tall boy over. Sliding the door closed, Sanha stepped out into the ever-immaculate aisle. The heels of his boots clicked softly against the concrete. He quickly strode into the main building and into the dining hall before Mr. Kim would want to give anything more than a disapproving glare for being late. Sanha mindlessly walked towards his regular table, lighting up at the sight of his friends already there, ready to forget about everything. Except there was something wrong. Minhyuk was sitting in his spot.

            _Great._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really would've liked for this to be a little longer but that probably would've had all of you waiting for another three months

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on [tumblr](https://eunwoohearts.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/weisjenga)!


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